


Pushing

by ScullyGolightly



Series: Pushing [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Sex, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 05:05:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScullyGolightly/pseuds/ScullyGolightly
Summary: Season Six after Arcadia.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Season Six after Arcadia.

He found her in the crowded bar. She was pulling the label off of her Shiner Bock when he squeezed in between the bar stools that were occupied beside her.

 

“Don’t you know that’s a sign of sexual frustration?” he said.

 

She looked up at him. She was drunk and not a happy drunk. She was, indeed, sexually frustrated. Although, the term seemed too mild for whatever she was at the moment. After six years of sexual frustration combined with tragedy and heartbreak, it was more like a clinical sexual depression.

 

“Thanks for the psychological observation,” she grumbled as she continued to pick at it.

 

He sighed and leaned on the bar with both elbows. He wasn’t sure if this was the best time to try to reduce the chasm that had developed between them. Maybe he should just let her wallow in peace or maybe he can pick at her like she was picking at that label.

 

He had tried to revert back to his flirting and innuendo-slinging since they’ve been back on the X-Files, but the Diana debacle had created too much of a rift for it to be that simple. By the end of their undercover case he realized what a huge problem it had become. He watched as she stoically kept her distance as he made married jokes and took advantage of their covers. Looking back, he saw that it was insensitive to sweep it all under the rug and act like none of it had happened. He had rationalized that aside from one almost kiss in his hallway, they were not romantically linked, and she had no right to be jealous.

 

Then he thought about his behavior regarding Jerse. Hadn’t he done the same thing? And the almost kiss hadn’t even happened at that point. The absence of a consummation by sex or even a simple kiss does not invalidate their relationship. There is something there. Something absolute. Perhaps even more profound than an average relationship because it had sustained through so much and for so long without the sex. Sexual tension, yes. They had that in spades.

 

All of this made him more certain than ever that it was time to bust through her walls and make up for his lapse of good judgement. He knew that he made her feel like he stopped caring about her at some point and he will never forgive himself for doing that. Just add it to the long list of things which he can’t absolve. Will he ever learn? Or is he doomed to hurt the only person he loves who is doomed herself because she can’t bring herself to leave?

 

“Another observation: it’s quite uncharacteristic of you to go solo drinking on a work night.”

 

“I’m celebrating,” she responded, despondently.

 

“I’m afraid to ask.”

 

“God, you’re dense. My Irish heritage. It’s St. Patrick’s Day.” She gestured animatedly around at the bar.

 

“Well, yeah, I know that. Uh…” He was at a loss. He knew it was fucking St. Patrick’s Day. She was going to make him work and she had every right to. She was drowning her sorrows after spending another day in the presence of her asshole partner who decided to make a move way too late in the game after being careless with her heart.

 

“So everyone is Irish today, then. Even me. Can I join you?” he asked, meekly.

 

“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes.

 

The bartender nodded to Mulder.

 

“Two green beers!” he shouted.

 

Scully winced at his volume. “Uuugh,” sighed Scully, rolling her eyes again and ending with a glare to her partner. She brought the bottle to her lips and downed the remaining third of its contents. Scully set it down on the bar with a bang and then rubbed her face with her hands.

 

What the fuck was he doing here? Was she not allowed to entertain her self-pity? She knew she should have just gone home with a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream. He would’ve found her there, too. How did he find her here, anyway? He could be so damn frustrating. Finding her when she doesn’t want to be found and not being there when she craved him.

 

She wouldn’t let herself dwell too much on her hasty decision-making. She needed to get laid and she would have to be drunk enough to stop her brain from thinking about it. It wasn’t smart, she knew, but even the brilliant Dr. Dana Scully was allowed some recklessness every now and then. She came here with the intention of finding a drunken one night stand, but as she started drinking, her sadness deepened. She abandoned her plan of fucking to forget and settled on drinking to forget.

 

The bartender set down two steins of green, frothy beer in front of them. Scully scrunched her face at them.

 

“Are you trying to catch up with me?”

 

“No, one is for you.”

 

“That’s just cheap beer with food coloring, Mulder. Why would I want to drink that?”

 

“To be festive? Your ancestors never drank green beer?” he teased. “And besides, you seem too drunk to care about the quality of the beer.”

 

She narrowed her gaze at him. “I am not drunk.”

 

“Fine, I’ll drink them,” he said, defeated.

 

She could strangle him right now. Ok, yes, she was kind of drunk, but the fact that he said it so cockily irritated her to no end.

 

“Maybe if I get ‘not drunk,’ too, we could let our inhibitions down and actually fucking talk about things.” As soon as the sentence left his lips he regretted it. This was exactly how _not_ to engage her on the subject.

 

His words hit her square in the chest and it felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. She didn’t know how to respond—she was feeling so many different things. She was angry and relieved. She was shameful and hopeful. It took a lot of effort not to react. She was wholly unprepared to go down this road with him tonight. She had been planning on one more beer, a cab ride home, and a sad solo session with her vibrator, after which she would cry herself to sleep. But, this was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted to talk with him and get things off her chest. It’s just now her brain was dulled by the booze. She panicked as she watched this opportunity slip through her fingers.

 

Mulder was also panicking. He couldn’t believe _that_ was how he chose to open the lines of communication. He gulped his beer, awkwardly, trying to think of a follow-up remark, but was coming up empty handed.

 

“Well, fuck me. I didn’t realize you wanted to talk this whole time. You inexplicably trusted this woman who has obvious ties to your enemy, _our_ enemy, and then told me not to make it personal. If it’s not fucking personal, Mulder, then what do we have to say to each other?” she bristled.

 

Ok, apparently she was going to handle it that way. There was no going back now.

 

Mulder nodded and took another long sip of his beer. He deserved that, but he didn’t know how to respond to it. He didn’t know how to respond then, either, so he had behaved like an idiot.

 

She took his silence as an invitation to keep going. Somewhere inside the sober, sane part of her tried to cry out and tell her to leave it be.

 

“You can be a real asshole, you know. I’m not sure why I put up with it and I’m not sure why I let the countless selfish things you do bother me. D’you know why I’m here tonight, Mulder? Getting tanked, alone, in a place I thought you wouldn’t find me?” It was a rhetorical question and she knew he knew that, but she looked at him expectantly anyway.

 

He was too ashamed to look back at her, but he could feel her eyes boring into him.

 

She couldn’t read his face. It was expressionless and it was infuriating her. He motivated a dialogue and now that she was talking, he refused to respond?

He felt her face come close to his, the heat of her breath against his cheek as she hissed, “I came here to find someone to fuck me since all you do is fuck me over.”

 

A chill came over him and seemed to freeze the blood in his veins. Somewhere inside the rational part of him hoped she was saying this just to get a rise out of him, but that hope stayed buried beneath layers of senseless rage and jealousy.  

 

He turned to her, grabbing her arm roughly, and swore he saw wicked excitement flash in her eyes.

 

“Goddamn it,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

 

They held a heated gaze, both challenging the other to make the next move.

 

Mulder’s hand was wrapped tightly around her wrist, his thumb on her pulse. Surely he could feel her blood pumping fast and her skin warm as her body flushed. It was the beer and the anger and his closeness brewing into a storm inside her.

 

“You ready to fuck me instead of fuck with me, Mulder?”

 

He had not imagined the malicious delight he had thought he saw moments ago. She was aroused by this and he found that he was, too. He tried to shake away the feeling of how twisted that was, but it remained and sat like a boulder in his gut, even as his dick hardened. Everything about Scully had confused him since he first met her. It should come as no surprise that they found themselves in this situation. Like always, he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

 

“Scully. Stop.”

 

“Stop what?” she asked, her voice as sweet and thick as honey this time. “Stop messing with your head?” said Scully, tapping her finger against his temple.

 

He tightened his grip on her and thought he heard her whimper.

 

“Unlike you,” she continued. “I find no fun in messing with that head.” She brought her hand away from his face and down to his lap. “This head, though. I think I can have fun with that.” She firmly palmed his stiffening cock through his trousers.  

 

They stared—Mulder with fury behind his eyes and Scully’s cold and piercing.  

 

Scully looked away first. She removed her hand from his crotch and wrenched her wrist free. She slid off the stool, making her eye-level with his chest.

 

“You're a coward. Or you don't want me like that. Either way, I'm making a fool of myself,” she softly said, all venom gone.

 

Stupid fucking liquid courage. She berated herself—the self-hatred hitting an all new high. She looked for the bartender to close out her tab, hoping she could get out of here before the hot tears came.

 

Her sudden change scared him more than her anger had. Confounded once again, he had no idea how to go forward.

  
“Scu--” her name stopped in his dry throat. He watched as she paid her bill and shrugged on her coat. She turned, pausing, pressing slightly into him before walking towards the door.

 

***

She turned down her hallway and found a sleeping Mulder on her doorstep.

 

Instead of going home, she had gone to the bench they used to meet at in their early days. The shock of what she had said and done in the bar paired with the chill of the night had sobered her up. Too much. How was she supposed to continue working with him after that? They’ve moved on and pretended like things haven’t happened before. Maybe they could still do that? Maybe she hadn’t royally fucked up.

 

How quickly they forgot about that almost kiss in the hallway, and him going to the ends of the earth to save her. Well, “forgot” was the wrong word. She thought about these things daily, though, they never discussed them or used these moments to move forward.

 

She nudged his foot with hers, rousing him from sleep.

 

“Why didn’t you just let yourself in?”

 

He looked at her groggily, and tried to figure out how long he’d been here and whether or not she had found a one night stand during that time.

 

“Respecting your boundaries, Scully.”

 

“Why start now?” she said, reaching over his head to unlock her door.

 

He stumbled into a standing position. “Good point.”

 

Inside, they both removed their coats. Scully refrained from remarking about him staying and refused to offer him something to drink. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him, imploringly, though.

 

He took the hint. “Scully. I’m sorry. You were right about everything you said tonight. It’s personal. All of it. Since you walked into my office six years ago, it’s been personal. So personal, I don’t know how to behave sometimes. I’m an asshole and a coward, like you said, and what you did tonight was too lenient. I don’t deserve you, Scully, as a partner, or a friend or, or…”

 

“Are you using your self-loathing to talk yourself out of this partnership?”

 

“No. God, no. I’m groveling. I’m not so good at it, though,” said Mulder, feebly.

 

“No, you’re not,” she said and crossed her arms.  

 

Mulder looked at her hoping for a mercy of which he knew he was not worthy.

 

“And the green lips aren’t helping,” she added.

 

Her face softened at his confused expression and she stepped toward him, touching her fingers to his lower lip.

 

His body relaxed and he let out a small laugh.

 

“I know you’re dying to make some joke about blowing a leprechaun or something, but can that wait ‘til after this?” She replaced her fingertips with her lips and kissed him.

 

He brought his hands up to her face and deepened their connection.

 

The lead up was so different than that of the hallway, but it felt like a completion of it. Her insides fluttered the same way, but the nervousness that was constricting her chest then was now absent. She was sure of this and she was sure he was sure now, too.

 

She opened her mouth to him and his tongue found its way in immediately. They sighed into each other. Six years of relief and release in those sighs. He explored her—his tongue caressing hers and the inside of her cheeks and her lips. She reveled in his attention, and the softness of his lips, and the wetness of his tongue. Each stroke making her synapses fire until her whole body was tingling.

 

Their hands took the lead of their mouths and explored each other, too. Caressing over clothing and sneaking beneath. Fingers fiddled with buttons and zippers and soon there were clothes strewn about the floor. Neither of them wanted to break the kiss they had waited so long for, so they pushed and pulled and guided each other to Scully’s bedroom, knocking into tables and walls, but not noticing anything besides the feel of each other’s skin and their lips pressed together.  

 

Mulder owed Scully so much he would never be able to pay her back, but he could start by worshipping her body like the goddess she was. He finally broke their kiss so he could do just that. She sighed his name so quietly he thought he imagined it. He lingered, softly moving his lips from one beautiful feature to the next—her regal nose, her angled cheekbones, delicate eyelids. He tried to ease the worry lines in her forehead that he himself had put there. He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and made his way down her perfectly sculpted jawline.

Scully felt ecstasy and agony with each lick, suck, kiss. It was a long time coming and she understood his desire to take his time, but she wanted, no, _needed_ , him inside her, filling up all the empty places in her body and soul.

 

His tongue trailed down her neck, between her breasts. His hands gently and slowly pulled the cups of her bra down, exposing taut pink nipples. His actions faltered as he looked at her, memorizing every skin cell. Scully let out an anguished whimper. She wanted frenzied pawing and rough fondling, and for him to share her sense of urgency. But, at the same time every touch was heavenly. It was a good predicament to be in.

 

Mulder nipped and sucked and licked every inch of her breasts, running his fingers under them and along their outer curves. Though they were firm under and in his mouth, they yielded slightly, deliciously, to his tongue and lips.

 

It pained him, but he left her chest, wet and flushed. He covered her breasts with his hands so she wouldn’t chill from their dampness. As if that was possible—her skin was on fire.

 

He felt her hands cover his and press them more firmly into her. He complied with her suggestion and squeezed her flesh, and became more forceful with his mouth that was planting kisses along her pantyline.

 

The rougher his contact made her more sure that he was there. What was happening now featured in so many of her fantasies, she was afraid she would open her eyes and find her own hand rubbing herself over her underwear. In lieu of psyching herself out she looked down at him just as Mulder closed his mouth over her cotton-covered clit. Seeing his head between her legs and feeling his hot, wet mouth ravage her swollen sex made her faint, and her head fell back.

 

“Ohmygod” escaped from her chest in a muted breath. No longer able to assist with the fondling of her breasts, her hands dropped to her sides, limply. Mulder used this opportunity to get access to where he wanted to be most. He tugged roughly at her underwear. The fabric scraped and bruised her sensitive skin. The pain made her smile. His aggressiveness made her wet. Well, more wet than she already was.

 

She tasted rich and heady, nothing like the cheap beer he had consumed earlier, and she had a much stronger intoxicating effect on him.

 

“Mulder-insideme-please.” She was mumbling, but he understood.

 

He removed his boxers, stroked his cock and looked at her. She lay before him all soft and hard—curves and angles. Her bra was still wedged underneath her exquisite tits. Her legs were spread, open and inviting.

 

They were face to face when he entered her, and they watched each other react. Pleasure and emotion overcame them both.

 

“Oh my-- fffuuuuck. Muhhh-huuugh-lder,” she moaned. At the same time, her name passed his lips on a hot breath that she felt on her cheek.

 

Their eyes were locked and he saw a tear escape out of the corner of her eye. He brushed it away with his thumb and stroked her cheek, moving above her and inside her.

 

The weight of being in this moment was crushing her. She was lost in his eyes and she was losing her breath. She felt like her body was slipping into an abyss. It was so different from her usual climax. She let herself feel it and let herself go. The look in Mulder’s eyes anchored her to him. She felt free and secure—safe.

 

Her cunt gripped him, urging him to follow. He did, coming hard. He collapsed on top of her and tried to summon the strength to roll off her.

 

“No. Stay,” she said. He felt comforting—his large body covering her small frame. She welcomed the heaviness. It represented the magnitude of it all. She savored the restricted breath, and their overheated skin, and the stickiness between her thighs.

 

He slipped out of her and she eased him off to her side. Their legs instinctively wrapped around each other. She rested her head on his chest.

 

The tenderness of his touch—sliding through her hair and caressing her neck—caused another wave of emotion to engulf her. The tear threaded through the hair on his chest and stung him as it pooled, hot on his skin.

 

“Scu--”

 

“I'm okay. I am.”

 

They laid in silence for quite sometime, content just to hear the other breathe.

 

After a while, Scully shifted and propped herself up to look at him.

 

“Thank you for not taking me up on the angry sex I challenged you with at the bar. It would have been all resentment and animosity, and I’d be left feeling worse than I did before. I don't know if we'd been able to come back from that. I'm sorry I pushed us in that direction.”

 

“Scully, no. You didn't. I did the pushing. I pushed you into a corner and you had no choice but to push back. I'm glad you did.”

 

“This was a much better first time for us than some depraved hate fuck in a dingy public restroom.”

 

“You mean, you really would've..?”

 

“Mulder, I was drunk, horny, and pissed off. If you would've taken my bait, yes, I would have. It's disturbing knowing that I would've. It scares me a little. _This_ scares me,” she said gesturing between them. “I'm realizing just how much I need you—how much I need us.”

 

“I know how you feel. Why do you think I do half the stupid shit that I do?” He smiled at her, hoping to calm her fears. “Now we're in it together, though, so we’ll be able to handle it. Look at everything we've gotten through already. It's because we did it together.”

 

She sealed his romantic sentiment with a kiss.

 

“Well, the first problem we need to tackle together is getting some food. I'm starving and I have nothing in the house.”

 

He glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “It's still St. Patrick's Day for another hour. We can go to O’Shea’s Diner. They're open all night. I can get you the food of your people.”

 

“That sounds really good actually. Let's do it.”

***

He regarded her over his plate of corned beef and cabbage.

 

“Scully, are you not wearing a bra?”

 

She smirked and shrugged. “It's the middle of the night. We're in a diner. I'm going for casual comfort.”

 

“That's hot. Also, the perfect set-up.”

 

“Set-up?”

 

“You're Erin Go Bragh-less.”

 

She set down her fork—the terrible pun affecting her appetite. “Oh my god, Mulder. That's bad, even for you.”  

 

“If I piss you off enough will you fuck me in the bathroom?”

 

Her eyes widened.

 

“Too soon?” he chuckled.

 

“You are pushing your luck.”

 

“Scully, you are my luck.”


End file.
